[POEM] Itching gears

I’m a wind up toy that doesn’t understand the difference
Between excitement and fear. Between loathe and love.
Mechanical gears itch forward without any deference
To the true meaning , but if the hand fits the glove…

A thrill tickles against my rib-cage, with high notes,
Paving the way for a panic of horror, despite my smile.
Humdrum chaos surrounds me while I focus on dust motes
Praying those bashful grey things distract me for a while.

If my heart beats strong, it will eventually beat in fear.
If my breathing quickens, slowly it embraces mania.
I become faint, from fervent wishing that I not be here.
But here I am, indeed, succumbed to my brains’ megalomania.

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